


Not a Word Spoken

by redlionspride



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drinking, Episode: s01e08 The Well, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Post-Episode: s01e08 The Well, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlionspride/pseuds/redlionspride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place at the end of "The Well" Ward recognizes an invitation when he sees it. He and May share a lot of things in common, and after the strength of the Berserker Staff running through both of them, a drink and maybe something more is needed to help each other unwind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Word Spoken

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this the night I watched Season 1, Episode 8 “The Well” and before I knew what happened in the next eps, thus the ending of it is a bit off compared to canon, but I enjoyed writing it. I did it in a rush, you know, that feeling like if you don’t get the words out now you’ll lose them? So for that it’s a bit rushed and maybe a bit off, but I like it anyhow. I was going through a old file and found it, so... time to post it!

Ward stood in the hallway, staring at her open door. He wasn't very social but he knew the universal sign of welcome. May had gone through a lot of crap in her life too and she was reliving it tonight. The bottle in her hand was there to help her through it. He himself had already gone through a few drinks. Honestly, sleep sounded great. 

But so did another round. 

He looked off at his door again, then the open door. He headed to her door with very little thought. If he allowed himself time to think he’d ignore it and go to his own room. To his own bed. 

Instead he moved inside, not a word spoken, and closed the door, letting it latch behind him. 

He wasn’t here for anything other than company. The two of them saw eye to eye on one too many things, but today proved they had something more in common. Demons. 

She was standing in the small bathroom in the hotel room, a clink of the bottle heard as she sat it down. May knew he would follow. She wouldn’t have left the door open if she didn’t know. 

The two of them have shared more than a few drinks together on the Bus. After hard events that put everyone at unease, they had poured large glasses, tipped them to each other and silently leaned on a table drinking. It wasn’t in excess, but it was enough to numb the mental pains, just a bit. 

Tonight would be the same. They went through a lot just now, and a few more drinks would be worth it. They were needed no less. He found himself standing there while a glass hovered before him, her thin fingers carefully holding out a full glass. Not a word spoken. 

Taking it, ward tipped his head to her. He lifted the glass, she lifted hers, and they both drank as if they were drinking water from a cool spring. Tipping back the alcohol as if it were nothing. May refilled their glasses, more than needed, and slipped past him. Her hand touching his upper arm as she moved, a lingering look given up to him before drifting away. 

He followed her to the bedroom half of the hotel room where both of them nearly plopped on the edge of the large bed of hers, still neatly made. His own bed would have been thrashed tonight, and not in a good way. The Professor said he would lose this strength, this power and rage, but it would leave him worn out and tired. He already _felt_ worn out and tired, but this was different. 

He knew he would dream. Nightmares. The memory would stick. He’d lay there tossing and turning in bed, remembering how weak he was, how pathetic. Remember his brother in the well. The crying for help. How he was too scared to help, to go against his brother's will. 

How his little brother died because he was weak. 

He would lay in bed unable to sleep tonight. 

But here he sat, calm and fine, staring at his drink, sipping from it once in a while. 

Not a word spoken. 

His eyes caught movement beside him, glancing over to see May doing the same thing. He wondered if her perfectly made bed would be pulled apart by morning as well. For the same reason. She said she lived with it every day. Said that she knew this feeling. It was how she managed. 

Ward can’t manage that well. He’s not that set. This staff made it all the worse. 

He tips back more than he should of his drink, feeling this, sixth, or was it seventh, drink going to his head. He knows he should leave, but he won't leave until they are both done. He won't go until he’s sure they are both done for the night. 

May has a nearly empty glass in her hand. 

So does he. 

When they are both empty, she lifts her glass, a brow raised, as if asking if he wants another. He pauses for too long, and she’s getting up, taking his glass. Not a word spoken. 

Ward wonders if he can handle another one and still get back to his room. He’s had a lot. He’s also watching her perfect form move to the dresser, sitting both glasses down. She didn’t refill them. 

He moved to stand, clearly letting her clean up so she can pass out as well. They’re both worn out after all. 

His serious face looks at her, and he’s about to nod, to tell her good night. That he was going to go now, and thanks for the drink. To say all of it with his dead feeling eyes. With an expression that says he’s far too hurt for his own good and too worn out to care. But before he could even consider real words, she moved back towards him. Her hand reached out to take his. 

May pulled his hand out towards her, curling her hands around it and securely running thin fingers over the broken flesh from the fight. Carefully touching over his wrist as both her hands pulled his to her chest, just below her neck. She only held his hand there, not moving him anywhere, but after a moment, let her hands drift from his. One hand moving up, to touch his forehead, where the red scratches and bruising were the brightest. The other sliding up his arm, down his shoulder and to his neck, checking another mark. 

Her slender hands touched with soft traces of flesh, barely gracing over him. Moving from forehead to cheek, to jaw and neck. 

Ward watched her, his hand still curled up near her chest, slowly unfurling it to let his fingers slide out under her neck, then slide to it’s side, touching softly. His hand felt warm to her skin, her fingers felt bitterly cold to his cheek. It felt wonderful. 

Before he realized it, she was using both hands to push him backwards, sitting him down once again on the bed, then pushing him over. The slow motions of her hands as well as his both, simultaneously, moved in swift fluid moves. His shit was gone, her leather coat was peeled off her as well. He worked on her shirt as she worked on his pants. 

Nothing was pushed on the other, it was both equal. Every movement was something the other wanted. Every touch was welcome. By time they were both naked they were both very into what was going on. 

Not a word spoken between them, she straddled over him, her perfect porcelain skin was war marked and marred, just as his own was in places. Hers perhaps more than his own. No one said a word about it. They were both warriors and there was an understanding. May rode Ward, the strength of the staff still running through both of them. A hard grinding between the two of them, thrusts so the other would feel it for some time after. 

And in the end they wore each other out in aggressive, hard and fast moving sex, that when they were done the two of them collapsed in her bed. 

Her bed that was now trashed, but in a good way. 

There was no cuddling, nor close contact, but she didn’t kick him out either. You don’t share something like this with someone on your level and then kick them out. That wasn’t what this was. This was a understanding. Bonding in a way. Helping each other as well.

Both of them slept, Ward on his back, arm out to the side and head turned towards the window, eyes closed. May? curled up on her side, her back to someone she actually trusted, her head pillowed on Wards arm, her closed eyes facing the room door. 

They slept the rest of the night, not a dream or nightmare between them. 

When morning came, they both woke, far before 5 am then anyone normal should. May rolled to her back, looking over at him, Ward giving a small nod of good morning. He took a deep breath, rolled his neck and sat up. She stretched like a cat in bed, yawned, sighed and closed her eyes again. 

Without a word spoken, Ward got up, rolled out of bed and pulled on clothing. He made sure he had everything before moving to the bedside, reaching out to run a hand over her bare shoulder, drew the sheet up over her again, and as she peeked out at him, he gave her a halfhearted barely there smile. 

She gave him one in return and curled up more. Another five minutes, she said with out words. 

Ward slipped from her room into the dimly lit hallway, wandered back to his room and pulled a card key. He slipped into his untouched hotel room, took a shower, changed into proper clothing... and a half hour later sat on the edge of his bed. 

Another five minutes would have been nice. He fell back and closed his eyes, sighing out some rage and tension. Another five minutes.


End file.
